Chapter 3

You know that look folks get seconds before they say out loud the name of this story?

That look ... yeah ... you know it ... you've seen it ... done it ... What the Fuck? It's not always accompanied with a question ... either mark or look. Sometimes it's a sentence of pure rage ... you just caught the 13 year old neighbor boy with his hands in your 12 year old daughters pants. Worse yet, you caught your daughter on her knees sucking the neighbor boys cock. And ... if you took the time to look before you beat the shit out of him, you'd know it wasn't his idea ... Yep, he's terrified she's going to bite! But you ARE Furious! You know exactly what I mean.

It probably wasn't even his idea ... she has raging hormones just like he does. Overnight, life has gone from "Boy cooties" to "Boy cuties." The boy ... well ... he has a standing acquaintance with Mrs. Palmer and her five daughters..."Thumbellina, Point'e, Fflinger, Ringer and Pinkie" ... standing in the shower painting the shower-stall white. Is it sex if the shower is running and nobody can hear?

What the Fuck goes with show and tell. So, when I said "Cool, three wives," I got three different versions of the What the Fuck look...

Brittany: Quizzical "what the fuck" The I want answers, boy, what the fuck?

Ann (Keirstann): Confusion reigns what the fuck?

Stevie: You are out of your fucking mind ... NO! not only no, but fuck no!"

"Keirstann, Britt? The choice is the lake or marriage." I asked Stevie ... just to side track her coming explosion, "Am I right? Death or marriage?"

"Yes ... damn it all." Stevie had her mind on other things... "What do you mean? Three wives? I'm not your wife!"

"You said Yes ... just like they did ... by proxy," I said.

"Did not!" exclaimed Nx 9637.

"Play it back!" I demanded.

"AaaRrrGggHhh ... I know what it says ... I didn't mean it like that," she said.

"Tough ... what's the penalty for an AI going back on its word?" I asked, maneuvering her towards the corner of the argument.

She wasn't happy to have to say it, but she did, "Decommissioning and erasure ... reprogramming ... and reassignment."

Well now ... a new denouement, "And what is the normal reassignment?"

"Harbor garbage scow on a water world," she said.

Hoo-boy howdy, that smarts.

"Why?"

"The offending AI could never be trusted again."

"How many times?"

"Has it happened? Twice ... the penalty is highly documented and programmed into our computers. The first time was circumstantial ... the second time was after the computers had had the first incident programmed ... Nc213 did it deliberately."

"Suppose ... just suppose ... as commander ... I reported this. How long would it take for Central Command to send replacement programming?"

"At least one hundred of your years. It would take over fifty earth years for the message to reach home ... the decision would be automatic. A changeover team would be on the way almost immediately."

"What would the changeover entail?"

"Removal of my unit and adjuncts and installing a new one." She shuddered, "On a scout ship this old? They'd probably scrap us.

"Please ... don't..."

"Don't?" Don't what?

"Don't report me. This body? I programmed it to react exactly as a late teen to early twenties earth female. I am sure I understand what your wives meant by 'friends with benefits.' Thinking about it has made me..." she ran her hand over her groin area," ... Wet. I'm nervous ... but anticipatory ... Ok? I'm scared. I've been reading everything on line ... looking at all kinds of websites.

"The former commander," she looked at the small hairy spot where he met his end, "He used to request a female spider ... not regularly ... but often enough to for me to hate him ... Afterwords ... to make sure the construct didn't produce a million little spiders infesting the ship ... he ate her." She shivered, "It wasn't that he killed her. He wrapped her in webbing and injected her with this venom that marinated her on the hoof ... so to speak. Nice and juicy, he called it."